Not Really Closure
by Marie Suzette
Summary: Elena Bothari-Jesek confronts the past in an attempt at closure. Written for BujoldFest 08 prompt - "Elena Bothari and Elena Visconti's meeting on Escobar"


Written for Bujoldfest 2008, prompt: Elena Bothari and Elena Visconti's meeting on Escobar

The two women who sat across from each other were so obviously related. Despite the differences in hairstyle (one's hair was cropped, the other's cascaded in waves) and clothing (one wore understated civvies with impeccable military posture, the other flaunted and reveled in the bright colors and patterns of life unconstrained by uniformity), their similarity was unmistakable.

And yet, the stiff reserve each bore, the awkwardness with which they interacted, the long silences neither knew how to fill, these all contradicted the impression that the two might be mother and daughter.

"I'm … glad you agreed to meet," Elena said quietly. "I wanted to achieve some sort of closure."

"Yes, you had mentioned," the other Elena said brusquely. "How far along is it?" she asked, polite but disinterested.

"Three months."

Another awkward silence.

"What exactly do you want to know?" Elena finally asked, looking her daughter in the eye. "Make yourself clear, so this can be over with." She'd only agreed because something the little man said had stuck with her through the years.

"I've … talked it over with Aunt Cordelia-"

"Aunt?" Elena asked, a little sharply.

"Countess Cordelia Vorkosigan. She ... says she remembers you, a little, that she shared a cell with you, after."

"I don't … I don't really remember much. Didn't she kill Vordarian? I remember being surprised when I heard she'd married the Butcher."

Elena considers defending the Count and Countess, and discards the idea. This isn't about recriminations or defense. And it's not about them. "She thought I should know … know the whole of the whole. She ignored security clearances and told me the truth of the matter, which so few know. Because it concerned me, you see, and she thought knowing was my right."

"So you learned about the nature of your Barrayaran perversions?" the other Elena asks, bitterly. Is that all her daughter had wanted to discuss?

"No, she presented me with a sort of justification for my father, perhaps the only one anyone will ever speak. And she didn't sugarcoat it. But I wanted to hear a little of it from you, so as to finish this investigation into the past. So then I can close that chapter of my life."

"You don't want to hear," Elena shook her head. "You think you do, but you don't. And the past won't bother you less or more because of this."

"I need to know-"

"What you want," Elena said shrewdly, "is to defend your father to me. Because maybe, in the course of defending him to me, you can defend him to yourself."

"Mayhaps," Elena said finally. "I don't really know, myself. I just felt like I needed to settle the past before I moved on with the future."

"Tell me, then. Tell me the pretty little story your precious aunt concocted for you, and see if you can sway me. And sway yourself."

"Really?" With hope in her voice. "But, I do need you to … to give your word not to repeat what I tell you, because parts of it are classified, and parts are not, and parts …"

"Parts would be disrespectful to repeat, you mean?" Elena said scornfully. "Go ahead. I don't know how much my word is worth, but I do know better than to go and stir up the past when it is over and done with. And dead." Perhaps that was a low blow.

The other Elena wanted to defend herself, she could tell, wanted to say something about _laying the past to rest_, she was sure.

"My … my father was born in a bad part of town," she began, and then laughed nervously. "Until today, I hadn't called him my father for over ten years," she admitted. "But I thought that I should confront the fact, if I was going to confront the past."

She saw the other Elena's impatient expression, and hurried on.

"His mother was a whore, who sometimes rented him out to customers. He grew up in a whorehouse. He …" She was telling it out of order, she realized. It was becoming fragmented and disjointed. "Suffice to say, he had a host of psychological problems as a result of his childhood, not least of which was deriving pleasure from pain, and delighting in causing pain." That part was hard to say. "And possibly schizophrenia."

"A poor childhood and traumatic past full of psychological issues do not constitute a good defense. Is a man not guilty for murder because his parents were careless when he was a child? _That monster_ committed horrific acts -- his past does not make his actions any less horrific." She shouldn't have agreed to this, not when the memories had been more or less dormant. Until now.

"He joined the army, so that someone else could tell him when killing was a good thing, and when it was bad. Except, the army isn't necessarily the best decisionmaker about that, sometimes. My Aunt Cordelia met him then, and I think she said he seemed a monster, but seemed to do … do something resembling the right thing when called upon. He was, then, not quite so monstrous."

Did Elena want to hear this? Hear her villainous violator's sordid descent?

"And then Vorrutyer found him, and found his mental weaknesses, and exploited them. And used him. You know how."

"You won't make me feel any sympathy for him."

"No, but perhaps pity will do. He became mentally unstable, as you know. And … with you, I think, he created a delusional world in which he was sane, and happy. The life that could have been."

"It _disgusts_ me," Elena spat, "that he used me in his delusion to assuage his conscience. That he had such a perverse _fantasy_." She shouldn't have come, shouldn't have listened to this. But this part, she had known, had heard from the little admiral. It was easier, hearing it the second time around.

"He was monstrous," Elena agreed. Her face revealed conflicting emotions. "It was not his fault, for it was Vorrutyer who turned him into a monster, but that does not make him any less of a monster. And then, I don't know if you know, Vorrutyer obtained Au- Cordelia. Cordelia Naismith, she was then."

"I had heard that, yes," Elena said cautiously. The stories of Cordelia Naismith were many. She had singlehandedly killed one of the greatest monsters of contemporary Barrayaran history, and then married another.

"Vorrutyer ordered … well, he wanted her to go through much the same as you had." Elena could not finish this story. It was too hard to vocalize it, and hear the hard, cruel, monstrous facts pile up, as if by speaking it, they became more true. "And he summoned m- my father. Who Aunt Cordelia recognized. And because she had met him before, she told him she forgave him, because she realized what he must have gone through. And then, in his madness, he recovered a little sanity. And he said he would not do it, because … well, because of an obscure bit of honor having to do with their previous visit." It's not like Elena would understand the Barrayaran concept of honor, especially when she had been prisoner of war during a period when none had held to that code of honor.

There was a silence, while Elena regained her breath.

"And then my father killed Vorrutyer. That would be the state secret."

The other Elena did not startle, did not flinch. "So you would I forgive one tormenter because he killed another? Or perhaps you expect me to feel guilt because I am not as magnanimous and forgiving in my grief and my trauma as your precious Aunt? Because I won't try to understand the psyche of the man who _raped_ me _repeatedly_?"

"No," Elena shook her head. "That's not what I meant at all. Aunt Cordelia is ... extraordinary and had an entirely different experience from you, so ... she could _afford_ to forgive him in that instance. I only bring it up because … Aunt Cordelia said that Bothari was a monster, but he was a monster that recognized his … monstrousness, I suppose, and sought others to be his keeper. And in that, he showed strength of will. Vorrutyer was a bad keeper. But he found, eventually, a good keeper. I suppose." Elena found her thoughts getting muddled in her head.

"Your little admiral?" Elena could not help but ask.

"The admiral's mother," Elena said, almost absently. Then flinched. But the other Elena did not make the connection. More quietly and knowing that she was being disjointed again but needing to get it out, Elena added, "Miles says that my father must have let you kill him. Because his reflexes were too fast for any other explanation."

"No. You will not take _that_ victory, _that_ vengeance away from me," Elena said fiercely.

"Miles could be mistaken," Elena said cautiously. When the other Elena said nothing, she went on. "Miles owes a lot to my father, so he was … hardest hit by his death. Moreso than me. At the time, I ... was reeling from the revelations." She wasn't sure what to say now - she'd reached the end of what she meant to say.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Almost. I know that you hate and despise my father, which I understand. It was a monstrous thing he did. And I'm sure I am nothing more than a reminder of … the past." Elena almost faltered, but she forged on. "But I hope one day you will be able to see your granddaughter differently. And perhaps come to visit her now and again."

More silence.

"It will be a girl, then?"

"Yes. Her name will be Elena. Elena Jesek."

"You're not naming her _Bothari_-Jesek?" the other asked snidely. "If you've truly _accepted_ your father as you claim, you wouldn't have second thoughts about passing on his name."

"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I haven't completely dealt with the past on an introspective level yet. But I'm trying."

The silence was a little more loaded this time.

"Whatever her name will be, she comes out of the replicator in six months. We'll send you an invitation – please come, if you're free." In a smaller voice, "Do you think you will be?"

More silence, and tension.

"Perhaps."

**Addition A/N**: I feel like I wrote this to fill a prompt, and that it lacks purpose, plot, and cohesion as such. It turned out with a bit more direction than my other failed prompts (which will follow), which is why I ended up submitting it, but I'm not too happy with it. I also don't think it is possible in the Vorkosiverse, either, because of security breach reasons, and possibly timeline issues.

If there were any of my fanfics I would ever write a fic commentary for, it would definitely be this one, because I changed my mind so many times about specific lines, and tried to use (and probably failed) others to convey various themes. It was harder for me to write this fic than the other two (which almost wrote themselves) because I really like Bothari, and was always irritated with Elena-daughter for being so upset at her dad, even though it is in a way justified, because she doesn't understand much about him.

At the same time, as much as I would like Elena-mother to understand Bothari's position, I could never write her forgiving Bothari because I would never want to imply/convey that a rape victim, fictional or not, should be obligated to forgive her/his rapist. I was mortally terrified of accidentally even appearing to blame the victim, because that bothers me so much when I read other works of fiction, and yet a lot of implications of what I was writing didn't necessarily dawn on me until I was rereading what I'd written, so then I'd have to add parts and take away parts, which is always difficult for me, because what I add may not fit with the consistency/flow.

Wow, this is almost as long as the fic itself. My final concern is for the consistency of the story, because I think certain thematic elements may have ended up muddled throughout the story. I suppose if any story needed a beta, this one most _definitely_ did, and I'd appreciate any thoughts/comments about it.


End file.
